Page 13 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
“No reason for you to live the life of a monk while you wait to meet her.”
“I have no time or energy foramour.”
“You’ve had little since your brush with a certain fellow two years ago.”
Kane snorted at the reference to his particular nemesis, Rene Vaillancourt. “He did change my life. I admit it.” The deputy chief of Paris police had killed his friend, and in a prolonged, gruesome manner that was unnecessary, too.
“But tonight you are lucky. Look to the far door. The countess and, I do believe, her niece.” Dirk inclined his head ever so slightly toward the lady who appeared there.
Striking a pose, one long leg toward the front, her chin up at a mischievous tilt, her lips rouged and glistening, the older woman with cropped coal-black hair and generous bosoms influenced those in the room to fall silent. With her firm, rounded breasts leading the way, the countess strode about the yellow and lilac salon in her flowing pale pink gown, greeting everyone. Unlike many other ladies here, the Countess Nugent revealed only her rosy areoles through her silk. The rest of her was discreetly concealed. Her appetizer definitely amused him so much that Kane fought his grin.
“Come,” said Dirk in triumph. “I will introduce you.”
Kane stood, at the ready. Relief flooding his system, he argued with his prudent choice to focus on her pleasing face. Every woman had breasts, and heaven knew there were enough of them jiggling around this ballroom tonight that he needn’t consider Lady Nugent’s worthy of a unique study.
But then his view shifted to a frothy cloud of elegance that appeared behind the countess. His step halted. His pulse leapt—and his cock stirred in hot homage at the vision who strolled behind the countess.
This one was no more than an inch taller. Decades younger. More lithe. Virginal in a liquid, creamy silk no one could see through. Jade ribbons were tied beneath her full, pointed breasts. A jade ribbon wound through her Grecian cap of black curls.
Kane’s hands flexed. His fingers tingled, remembering the feel of her firm flesh captured by his own. Her lips parted for others as, once in a forest in the early morning, they had opened beneath his own. He could feel them now. Supple, giving. A sensation he must rid himself of.
But she smiled at her companion, and his guts stirred. Her smile, one he hadn’t enjoyed that dreadful day, was wide and infectious. He must have that smile from her forhim. Inspire her to it. Lure it from her as she drew it from him now. He knew not how nor when that would be. But the certitude of it filled his surging blood. He would have her—and soon.
Raven.
“You know her?” Dirk had stopped at Kane’s side.
“I do.” She was his contact. His objective. Raven was—
“Augustine Bolton,” Dirk whispered. “Let’s have ourselves introduced.”
*
Gus rejoiced ather return to the Tuileries. Her tendency to catch her death from changes in the weather were the bane of her existence. This was what she was trained to do. Socialize. Converse. Learn what she could and share it with her aunt. The dazzle of conversation, the intrigue of each exchange, her rejection of men who thought her head filled with feathers. Her Aunt Cecily was herentreeto Society that her parents could not give her. Or would not. But from an early age—five, to be exact—Aunt Cecily had brought her here to Paris. She’d sent her home to escape the Terror, then brought her back in her own carriage after Bonaparte conquered the mobs and secured her aunt’s safety.
She surveyed the dozens before her, dressed to the teeth with fabrics and jewels and honors that their small little lives had precluded, long before their ambitions joined with another fellow who would have once amounted to little more than a lieutenant. Now his skills as an organizer and a propagandist had united to make him the leader of these whom he had scooped from the underside of many a trough.
“Good evening,MademoiselleBolton.” The man before her had hurried to greet her. It was not the first time the suave captain of the Paris sector had swept toward her with speed. “I am delighted to see you are recovered.”
“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur le Capitaine. I am relieved to be well again. The weather, it is too variable.” She gave him her breathiest contralto. “I am sensitive.”
He took her hand to lead it to his thin lips. “You must always have warm fires to soothe you,mademoiselle.”
“You are most kind, captain. I choose my locales carefully.”As well as my admirers.
“Perhaps I might be of assistance?”
I doubt it.“Perhaps.” She’d lead him on. One never knew when a man would become useful.
“Tomorrow night.” He was quick to take up the chance. “I could appear at your door and take you to the theater. I have a box.”
I’m sure you do.“Merci,Monsieur le Capitaine. But I do not yet venture out often. My poor lungs,” she cooed, and placed her hand to her heart. His eager eyes followed, looking for a peek at something the silk did not reveal. “I cannot bear to ride in anything but an overheated coach. You understand, I’m sure.”
Poor man, he did try to look less than crestfallen.Quel dommage!
Her reputation led many to try to lure her to their cocoons. She had lived among these opportunists for too long to take each at all seriously. She was not giving away her virtue for a man who wished to prattle that he had broken the lock on the Bolt’s virginity.
“Augustine?” Her aunt swung round and beckoned her onward. “Come here, please.”
